The Emperor of Tears.
“Art doesn’t reflect what we see; it makes us see.”
— Paul Klee
The blind man made his way slowly into the village. The village was situated near the border of the uninhabitable zone. He had lost his eyes through watching the world almost end. The people came out and brought food and water for the blind man. But he was no ordinary man. He was a storyteller. Tales of the ancient days were stored within his memory and the villagers had been expecting him for weeks. Sitting down he slowly ate and drank and having satisfied his needs he began to satisfy the needs of the village. He began to retell the story they had requested.
‘Long, long ago, in a village, just like this one, there arrived from the citadel where the Emperor resided, a great troop of horsemen in garments of wondrous colour, embroidered in gold leaf, their banners blazing like the sun. They were the Masters of the Litany and they had come for the young boy who had excelled all others in the art of painting. His reputation had reached far and wide for his astonishing depiction of reality. The Emperor had summoned him to work upon his greatest project.
The boy knew nothing of the reason for his departure to the palace of the Emperor. He only knew the heartbreak of leaving his family and his home. But they all knew it was a great honour and that he would be well looked…
